âYouâre counting for me, arenât you, pretty girl?â His thumb slid up and over the hood of her clitoris, stroking smoothly and evenly from bottom to top before returning to the bottom again. His voice was mild, almost disinterested-sounding, but she could see the hunger in his eyes as he watched her juices leaking slowly out of her cunt to drip onto the sheets. He loved every bit of her delicious torment. And if she was honest with herself⊠so did she.
A light tap against her labia reminded her that he asked her a question. âUm, y-yes, sir,â she whimpered, hoping he didnât call her bluffâshe had a loose and vague memory of the numbers getting up into the hundreds, but then everything went red for a little bit inside her head as she tried very hard not to cum and she lost track for a while. She knew he was keeping to a very precise, steady rhythm as his thumb slid up and over her slick clit, up and over and up and over and up and over and oh goddddd⊠but she didnât know how long heâd been playing with her. Time had become meaningless to her somewhere around the third or fourth edge. All she knew was pleasure now.
âGood girl,â he said, his lips curling into a smirk. âAnd what number are you on now?â His thumb kept working the sensitive nub of flesh as he spoke, rubbing carefully and precisely against her tender clit. He never took the same path twice, constantly keeping her from developing any soreness or numbness during his continuous stimulation even as he teased her for hours on end. He never sped up, never slowed down. He just kept at her until her brain melted into a sea of arousal and her body tingled in helpless, aching pleasure.
He knew what it was doing to her, too. âTh-three hundred, sir,â she mumbled, hoping that was a bigger number than the last time he asked. She couldnât remember what she said before, everything was blurring and distending into a fugue of arousal and sexual heat until her thoughts simply crumbled under the relentless stimulation. She couldnât remember what would happen if she forgot the numbers, but she knew that a good girl always tried to obey. She wanted to be a good girl so badly, especially right now.
It didnât work, though. âYou said âthree hundredâ last time, pet,â he replied mildly, his thumb still stroking up and over her clit with relentless ease. âDoes that mean youâve forgotten?â His voice was so calm, not even sounding a little bit disappointed, but she trembled at the implications. She had disobeyed. She had forgotten to keep the count for him. She knew good girls were supposed to be obedient no matter how horny they got, and she had failed to follow his instructions.
But honesty was the best policy. âY-yes sirâŠâ she gasped, her voice unsteady with lust. âIâve forgotten all.â Her breath hitched as the pleasure took her with a sudden intensity, forcing her to ignore everything else for a moment and focus only on containing the rush of orgasmic bliss that was building up in her brain. She wanted to be a good girl, keep her mind blank and smooth and soft for Master. Cumming without permission was bad. Much worse than⊠oh. Right. âAll the numbers.â Her body sagged onto the mattress, too exhausted even to tense anymore.
Masterâs response surprised her. âGood girl,â he said. âThatâs my very obedient girl. Youâre following all your programming perfectly. Youâre forgetting all the numbers just like I instructed, and youâre forgetting your instructions just like I instructed. Every time you lose track of the count, that just means youâre deep enough in trance to accept my brainwashing, and you want that so much, donât you?â
âuh, uh huhâŠâ she murmured, slumping into boneless relaxation as Masterâs words sank in. She was supposed to be this foggy. She was supposed to be this blank and obedient. She was being a good girl after all. The realization felt so wonderful that it smoothed all the rest of her thoughts away, leaving her blissfully empty and relaxed for Master.
âGood girl. Now. ListenâŠâ And she listened. And she forgot.
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